


How to heal heartbreak

by ophdaisies



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: But the sex is very gentle and tender, Daddy Kink, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophdaisies/pseuds/ophdaisies
Summary: KM prompt: Daddy!Kane taking good care of Clarke after Bellamy breaks her heart by dating Echo... I mean, it's not like Clarke needs any boys when she has her Daddy to take care of her





	How to heal heartbreak

Marcus’s touch is gentle as he runs a thumb under her eyes, careful as he clears the tears that have fallen there, and Clarke lets out a shuddering breath at the feeling the gesture swells inside of her chest, having someone treat her so kindly, so softly.

So differently from the way she just was, having her heart quickly and unexpectedly broken by the person she thought she’d be spending her whole summer with. Only to find him with _Echo Alcott_ , his tongue down her throat as they made out on the front porch of his house, completely shameless and for all to see.

It’s not that she and Bellamy had been dating, but when Clarke had come back from her freshman year of college, it was with the memory of his promise before she left. That they’d still be friends despite her living four hours away the majority of the year, that they’d still have three whole months to spend together after she finished her first year. And when he’d texted to tell her he couldn’t wait for her to come back, Clarke had thought he meant it in the same way that she did.

That she’d be coming back to spend their summer _together_. Finally, as a couple.

Instead, she barely made it out of her car before the harsh cruelty of reality hit her, as she saw the way her longtime crush _and_ close friend kissed the girl who’d once vowed to ruin Clarke’s life.

Just like that, Bellamy had taken her heart and shattered it.

She couldn’t even properly remember what happened after that, a blur of running back to her car, Bellamy chasing after her, his touch hesitant as he tried to reach for her arm, his expression guilty as he took in the tears that swelled behind her eyes. But she got out of there somehow, driving back the way she came, her mind a mess of emotions she hated him for causing.  She’d known she didn’t want to go home, that she couldn’t face her parents, deal with their concern and questions as she tried not to drown in the pathetic feeling of rejection, but she hadn’t known where she wanted to go instead, not until she arrived at another house, as familiar to her as her own. 

One that promised to hold no judgement, only the comfort and love she knew Marcus would provide.

And so far, she hasn't been wrong.

“You’re okay, my darling,” Marcus murmurs now, voice low but warm as he continues to wipe at her face, but Clarke shakes her head sadly.

“I’m not,” she tells him, the words shuddering out of her, from the cracked place inside of her chest she’s not sure can be stitched back together. “There must be something wrong with me, Marcus. Something that means nobody will ever love me.”

He doesn’t hesitate for even a second, a growl ripping from his throat. “No,” Marcus says, and Clarke gasps a little at the firm tone of his voice. When she looks back up at him, his eyes are blazing in a way she’s never seen before, almost as though he’s _angry_ with her. “There is _nothing_ wrong with you, Clarke. And I never want you thinking that about yourself again.”

She’s so stunned it takes her a few seconds to find her voice, but she can recognise the warmth in her body that’s blooming and spreading at his words, such an unexpected feeling amidst the heartbreak. “Then why doesn’t Bellamy want me?” She asks, noticing the way her fingers move to grasp at his forearms without her even meaning to, as though she’s trying to cling to him, not let him leave until he explains it all to her.

Marcus sighs, his expression softening as his gaze flicks over her face, no doubt stained pink from her tears, eyes bloodshot and lips worked raw from her anxious tugging.

“Because he’s just a boy, Clarke,” he says eventually, and she takes in his response reverently, hoping he’ll have the answers to free her, to fix her. “It may not feel that way to you, but he’s only a few years older than you, yes? Twenty two or twenty three?” Clarke nods and he smiles. “Still just a boy, my darling, and boys that age are so silly. But I promise you that you’ll find some who cherishes you with their whole being, who appreciates every single thing about you. I promise you’ll know the feeling of being adored so fully it heals all these aches you’re feeling right now.” He lifts a hand again, cradles her jaw so gently she can’t help but close her eyes for a moment. “And I promise, my darling, that you’ll find someone who loves you. And if that person’s fortunate enough to receive your love in return, they’ll be the luckiest I ever know.”

Emotion swells tightly in her throat, so suddenly overwhelming she can’t breathe for a moment, and she looks up at Marcus, this man who’s always been there for her, always loved her with so much quiet ferocity it’s a wonder she’s never noticed it before, and realises now that she’s seeing him properly for the first time in her life.

Realises she doesn’t need to _find_ the person he just described.

Realises that he’s already here with her.

“Marcus,” she says, his name a wrecked epiphany, heavy and sweet on her tongue.

They’re in his bedroom already — he’d offered to go get her tissues when she first arrived and she followed him upstairs after realising she didn’t want to be without him for even a minute — and she’s grateful now for the comfort of his big bed, where they’re both sitting along the edge. She shifts over to him, wraps herself up around him, settling on his lap with a thigh on either side of his and buries her face in his neck, tightens her arms over his shoulders. She lets herself breathe him in, allows herself to sink into the warmth and strength of his body as her mind reconciles the emotions within herself, the gentle wave of peace and acceptance that’s washed over her because of him.

With the way he hushed her, soothed her. Made her feel beautiful and loved. _Worthy_.

She’s not sure what she’s doing, but she can’t stop herself; her lips meet Marcus’s neck, and she kisses him there. First just a soft, closed-mouth press against his skin, and then as something she can only describe as greed sparks low in her gut, again, a proper kiss that’s warm and wet.

“Clarke,” he says, and her name is wrecked too, but in a different way. His hands tighten on her hips, and she only now recognises that she’s not just sitting on his lap but _straddling_ it.

But he doesn’t try to shift her off, so she doesn’t move.

Doesn’t tell her to stop either, so she starts trailing her mouth up the column of his neck, lets the desire that’s growing within her take over. Give herself what she wants, what she needs.

This beautiful man who loves her, who takes such good care of her.

Who’s made her forget all about her heartbreak with just a few words.

His beard is rough on her skin, and she feels it spark something between her legs, an electric pulse where the warmth that bloomed within her has pooled into an aching wetness. She rolls her hips to try to ease the feeling, but all it does is deepen it, and a sudden desperation overcomes her as she does it again, and then again, trying to chase relief but only finding further need throbbing hot at her cunt.

It’s an impossible cycle she knows she can’t find the end to unless Marcus allows her, and she almost thinks that he will when she hears the heavy breaths that begin falling from his mouth, tickling hot at the skin of her neck, feels the stiffening of his cock beneath his pants where she’s grinding against him, but then his grip on her hips tightens and he’s shoving her back, with enough force that she whimpers, a combination of shock and loss.

“Clarke,” he says again, still that wrecked sound that makes something at her core flutter and tighten, and when she looks at him his face is drawn as if in pain, a look of conflict in his eyes, filling the cracks between the darkness that’s blown there. “Darling, we can’t do this.”

_Darling_. Always darling.

How could he call her that if he didn’t want this? How could he say all these words if he didn’t feel them?

“Why not?” She asks, and she wishes she didn’t sound so small, so desperate, longing for something she’s not sure she understands yet — only knows lives within _him_.

“It’s wrong, Clarke. You’re upset and not thinking straight, and you’ll regret giving yourself to me like this.” He sounds almost broken, a raw quality to his denial of her that tells her he’s telling the truth — his version of it, anyway.

“I wont,” she says, she _promises_ , running her hands up from his shoulders and to his jaw, cradling his face as gently as he did hers. “I could never.”

And then, to show him, she leans in, pressing forward to kiss him again, this time on the mouth. His lips are soft under hers, gentle as he lets her take the lead, one draw of them, and then another and another, until she gets used to the feel of him, gets greedy for something more, something deeper. She opens her mouth this time, lets her tongue trace along the seam of his lips until he opens for her, and then she’s getting a proper taste of him, so good she can’t help but kiss him again and again, until finally he groans into her mouth, control wavering as he takes her face between his hands and kisses her back.

Hot and deep and experienced, as good as Clarke’s ever been kissed.

It’s addictive, almost drugging, and she gets lost in the feel of his lips and tongue, but never forgets who it is that’s making her mind cloud with desire and her body hum with need. Who’s kissing her so adoringly, who’s making her feel so utterly loved and protected she’s not sure anyone else could ever hurt her again.

She starts grinding on him again, and Marcus groans, fingers threading through her hair and tugging her back to allow them both a few breaths.

But Clarke doesn’t want to breathe, doesn’t want anything but _him_ , and all she can think to do is beg.

“Please, Daddy,” she whines, rolling her hips again, and she watches as his eyes flash at the word, the way his cock twitches so good against her. She’s not at all sure where it came from, the word just bubbling up in her throat and spilling heavily from her tongue, but it feels right, so appropriate for this man that she knows deep within her, loves her.

His breaths are ragged, his voice wrecked. “You shouldn’t call me that, darling,” he says, fingers tightening in her hair, and Clarke feels her brow draw in confusion.

“But it’s true,” she says softly, leaning in to give him another kiss, loving the way he breathes her in, letting her sink into his chest. “Nobody looks after me like you do, Marcus. Nobody else is such a good Daddy to me.”

Another look of absolute conflict passes on his face, and Clarke waits, hoping that he’ll give in, let himself have what she’s offering, what he so clearly aches for.

“Fuck,” he says after a long, bated moment, before sliding his hands to her ass and standing up with her.

Clarke gasps, her heart beating wildly in her chest as he turns them around and throws her onto the middle of his bed, the change in his demeanour so quick it would almost scare her is she didn’t know him so well. But she does, and so it doesn’t.

Instead, she feels herself grow even wetter at the sight of him, his jaw working roughly and his gaze absolutely blown as he looks down at her, his perusal so slow and weighted she can’t help but squirm. She presses her thighs together, trying to ease the way her cunt, now soaking with arousal, aches for something to fill her, and Marcus follows the movement, his mouth tugging up slightly at one end, a pleased smugness in his expression.

“Do you need something, my darling?”

A shiver rolls down her spine at the words, and Clarke basks in the tingling sensation it rises to her heated skin. His first proper encouragement since she started kissing his neck. The first time he’s called her _my darling_ with such debauched affection in his voice.

“I need you, Marcus,” she tells him, but he shakes his head, not moving any closer.

“Be specific, darling,” he says, arching an expectant brow. “And ask me properly.”

Understanding fills her immediately, and she eases up onto her elbows, bettering her position so Marcus can see her properly as she tells him exactly what he wants to hear. “I need your cock, Daddy,” she amends, watching the way his eyes fill with pride at her words. “My pussy’s so wet for you, and I just need it to be fucked.”

He doesn’t say a word, simply starts unbuttoning his shirt, holding her darkened gaze as he slowly undoes it, revealing a hard, tan chest, and then a slightly soft tummy, a trail of dark hair beginning below his bellybutton and leading to the part of him she’s desperate to see and aching to touch.

The room is as charged as it is quiet, Clarke knowing without him having to tell her that Marcus is testing her patience, making her watch and wait as he shrugs off his shirt, drops it to the floor and then go for his pants, and she feels the tension grow thick and heated as she does, squirming with the weight of his gaze until he’s almost completely naked. Only his dark briefs still on, the outline of his cock huge, promising _so much_ for her.

He climbs onto the bed, and Clarke’s legs fall open for him on instinct, creating a cradle of space for him on top of her, and when he fills it, it’s almost too much. The fuzzy warmth of him as he settles over her, an arm either side of her. The delicious weight where he presses between her thighs, a teasing touch she needs more of. The absolutely intoxicating scent of him, so rich and masculine.

He hovers above her, not moving an inch even as she starts to squirm impatiently beneath him, but she’s already learning her lines here, and it’s easy to use it against him now.

“Please, Daddy,” she whispers, and just as she hoped, the words are a direct line to his control, breaking it in one go, and he leans down to press his mouth to hers again, a rough groan hitting her lips as he kisses her, just the way he did earlier. Hard and purposeful, so fucking good Clarke all but melts into it, not wavering in its perfection even as she makes it messier with her tongue, more desperate with her teeth, as he starts running a heavy hand over her body, fingers curling around the hem of her dress and tugging. “Take it off,” she gasps, somehow managing to push him off and sit herself up, the need to feel him skin to skin overriding the momentarily loss of his weight. “Please, I need to feel you.”

“Of course, darling,” Marcus murmurs, and thankfully he makes quick work of undressing her, the flimsy sundress she was wearing coming off her easily, revealing her free tits and a tiny pair of panties she loves. “Christ, baby, look at you.”

His hand immediately moves to one of her breasts, feeling the weight of it in his hand, and Clarke gasps, a heady combination of his touch and his new pet name. Nobody’s ever called her baby before, and it’s almost ridiculous how much she likes the sound of it on his tongue, likes that it’s just his. Just _theirs._

“Call me that again.”

His gaze meets hers again, his thumb not stopping in its tracing of her nipple, and she feels it pebble under his touch as he arches a brow. “What’s that, darling?”

Clarke bites at her lip, knows he’s teasing from the humour that flashes in his expression. Still, she bites. “Baby,” she says, making her voice low and silky, seductive. “Please call me baby, Daddy.”

Marcus drops his head, shaking it for a moment. “You’re going to kill me if you keep saying that, darling.”

_“Daddy.”_

He looks back at her, eyes crinkling adoringly. _“Baby,”_ he amends, leaning in to give her a quick kiss before he presses her back to the bed, and Clarke watches as all at once his hands are at the edge of her panties and he’s tugging the fabric down, the hot pulse at her cunt only growing heavier being bared to him. Only getting wetter as his thumb comes up to part her folds. “Such a pretty pussy, baby,” he praises, and her breath is shuddering heavily in her chest as he spreads her arousal over her cunt, plays with her slit and her clit, teasing her mercilessly. “Looks like it needs a cock to fill it, though.”

“It does,” she tells him, nodding almost humiliatingly quickly, her voice wavering with growing need.

“And whose cock does it need, baby?”

“Yours, Daddy. Only yours.”

She feels his growl everywhere, the way it makes her cunt clench and a hot wave of desire spread, and she watches as Marcus’s jaw works, as his hands move to his briefs and he frees himself from the constraints of them, _finally_.

And fuck he’s pretty, cock springing up to his stomach, flushed a deep red with veins running over the length gorgeously, huge and thick because of _her._ It might’ve worried Clarke a little if she hadn’t practiced taking this size with her dildos, and with him right here in front of her, within her reach, it almost feels like she was preparing for the inevitability of his. Of being fucked by her Daddy.

“You ready, my darling?” Marcus asks, taking his cock in his hand, giving himself a few slow strokes as he kneels above her. “Your gorgeous cunt ready for my cock?”

“Please,” she says, reaching up for him, pulling him down to settle over her again, his cock resting between the crook of her thighs, and Clarke wraps her hand around it, feeling him hot and throbbing in her grasp. “I want you to be my first bare, Marcus,” she tells him, using her grip to move him where she’s aching, trace the lips of her cunt with the tip of his cock, and Marcus’s eyes flash again, in that way that’s already becoming so familiar. “I’m clean and protected,” she promises, tugging at her lower lip as she looks up at him beseechingly. “And I don’t want anything between us when you fuck me. I just wanna feel my Daddy’s cock completely.”

“Jesus, baby,” Marcus swears, his head dropping for a moment before he meets her gaze again, pride shining through in his expression. “Of course, my darling, of course. Daddy wants to fuck you bare, too. Fill up his darling girl with his come.”

Clarke gasps, nodding quickly as his words send a flash of want through her, for Marcus to come all over her. Inside whichever hole he wants, over any part of her body he feels like.

It’s such a sharp ache that all she can do is shift her hips, angle them upwards until she feels the head of Marcus’s cock cradle right at the slick opening of her cunt, and when she nods, he starts pushing forward, his cock stretching her pussy inch by delicious inch, until he’s pressed in completely, filling her in a way she’s never been filled before, not by anyone.

Because he was right. All the other were simply boys, but Marcus? He’s her _Daddy._

Wrapping her legs around his hips, Clarke nods again, lifting her hand to cradle his jaw. “Fuck me good, Daddy,” she asks, and just as it’s been for the rest of her life, he can’t deny her what she wants now.

It’s hard and fast from the very first thrust, Marcus pounding into her with strong, measured strokes, and Clarke whines loudly at the feel of it. So full from him, so loved by him, an overwhelming combination that has pleasure building fast and hard at her core, a hot tension growing that she knows won’t take him long to snap.

She leans up, takes his mouth in a desperate kiss that he responds to instantly, and it’s all a hazy chase to release that wraps itself around them, makes it impossible to feel anything but the perfect thrust of his cock over and over in her cunt, hear anything other than their grunts and moans, sticky skin slapping hard against sticky skin.

And then, as he speeds up, starts fucking into her relentlessly, his words. “Don’t need anyone but your Daddy, baby,” he starts murmuring, kissing the statement against her mouth, into her skin. “None of those other boys, okay, my darling? Tell me you won’t let anyone else inside of you like this.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Clarke says, her voice a broken whine as she chants her reassurance, but apparently Marcus needs more, pulling up from where he was biting at her neck to look at her, his face drawn desperately.

“Look me in the eye and tell me, baby. _Nobody else_ , okay? You don’t need anybody else, not when I’m taking care of you.”

He sounds wrecked, desperate, and the possessive tone fills her up with so much love and warmth she feels like she could burst with it. Clarke nods, holding his gaze as she promises him. “Nobody but you, Daddy. You’re the only one I need.”

His mouth is back on hers the moment she’s said the words, his thumb finding her clit, and she wonders in the back of her mind whether it’s the same one he used to clear her tears earlier, what feels like so long ago now, but it’s the last coherent thought she has, the hot pulses at her clit pushing over the edge, the tension snapping within her as she comes. Cunt clenching his cock, body shaking with release, pleasure fills her up completely, the highest she’s ever felt before, and it’s only another few thrusts before she feels Marcus pull tight above her, his body so strong against hers as he does as promised, cock throbbing perfectly in her cunt as he fills her up with hot ropes of his come.

“Daddy,” she breathes, holding him close as aftershocks flicker through her, still coming down, and feeling absolutely wrecked for it, in the best way possible.

Emotionally and physically, it’s been a big hour, and Marcus must be able to tell just from the way she speaks, because he’s rolling them over a moment later, letting her settle on his chest as he again soothes and hushes her.

“You’re okay, my darling,” he murmurs, stroking a hand over her back as she tucks her face into his neck, breathes in the delicious smell of him. “Just let it all go, baby. Let Daddy take care of you now.”

And she does.


End file.
